


Just a little.

by RedStarFiction



Category: Shameless (US), gallavich - Fandom
Genre: Character Development, Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Gallavich, Ian Gallagher Loves Mickey Milkovich, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-20 23:07:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11931246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedStarFiction/pseuds/RedStarFiction
Summary: One of the things I love about Mickey and Ian is the way Mickey tries to develop himself to be a better person/ a better partner for Ian as their love blossoms. One thing I would have loved to see was Ian and Mickey confront the violent side of their relationship and maybe make different choices so here is a small Shameless Imagine about that and how it could have happened.https://shamelessly4shameless.tumblr.com/





	1. Chapter 1

The argument had begun over a damn cross-word puzzle. It was on the back of paper that Ian had picked up on a whim to find out what was going on in the world outside of South-Side Chicago, USA. He had skimmed the news stories, most depressing, some shocking but he had come to the conclusion that the rest of the world was just as fucked up and miserable as them and been about to chuck it in the trash when the puzzle caught his eye.

He had found a mostly working pen and a crumpled joint down the side of the sofa and been working his way through both the joint and the puzzle when Mickey walked in. 

“Hey!”

A kiss, always a kiss no matter what sort of day he’d had, and Ian noticed that he tasted of beer already. 

“Shitty day?”

“Too fuckin’ right. People don’t just buy guns anymore, they fuckin’ haggle and some dipshit tried to hold me up with my own fuckin’ stock. Like I would keep the fuckin’ things loaded for some asshole to rob me with?”

Ian laughed and wrapped his hand in the front of Mickey’s shirt, pulling him down and kissing him again, his tongue gently gelling with Mickey’s before softly biting his full lower lip. 

“You want me to take your mind off it?”

Green eyes met blue and for the first time that day, Mickey smiled a genuine smile and let his breath out in a soft exhalation of happiness.

“You already did but if you want to fuck, I need to shower first.”

“Sure. I’ll try and finish this while you wash up.”

Ian gestured to the paper folded in his lap and Mickey raised one finely arched eyebrow at him

“You checkin’ their spelling?”

“No, it’s a cross-word.”

“Cross-word? The fuck is that?”

Mickey sat down beside Ian and peered at the little grid, some blank squares already filled in with Ian’s scruffy penmanship.

“You have to try and fill it in based on the clues, here.”

Ian explained, and Mickey nodded, a small frown creasing his brow.

“Right. They give you money for it?”

“No, it’s just for fun.”

“Fun? Shit.”  
Mickey eyed it doubtfully and then shrugged.

“Alright. Give me a clue.”

“Er …”

Ian looked doubtfully at the clues that were left 

“I’ve done the easy ones ...”

“So give me a fuckin’ hard one.”

Mickey snapped, the humour of his statement lost on him and his eyes narrowed as Ian laughed

“What? You think I’m stupid or somethin’?”

“No it’s just ‘Give me a hard one’ ? C’mon. Dude, seriously?”

“You gonna give me a fuckin’ clue or should I just fuck off and leave you jerkin’ off over your fuckin’ paper and how smart you are?”

Ian held up his hands and looked at the list of remain clues again.

“OK, how about this one … ‘Correct name for the North Star’ seven letters.”

Mickey sniffed and absent-mindedly rubbed his knuckles over his chin thinking

“Polaris.”

“What?”

Ian sat back and looked at Mickey in open surprise

“Fuckin’ polaris. The polar star. Brightest in the night sky.”

Mickey jabbed at the paper with his finger

“Write it down, it’s right.”

Ian duly wrote it in and grinned at Mickey

“How did you know that?”

“I dunno. Discovery channel maybe. I know things.”

Mickey sounded defensive and Ian realised that he had insulted him without really meaning to.

“I know you do. Hey, I’m sorry. I was being a prick. You want another?”

“Yeah sure.”

Mickey plucked the joint Ian had discarded from the ash tray and lit it with one hand, the other slung across the back of the sofa, loosely around Ian’s bare shoulders, his fingertips lightly caressing the skin in small, gentle circles.

“What is Canada’s national animal? Six letters.”

“Moose.”

“That’s five letters.”

“Fuckin’ Mooses then.”

Ian laughed and kissed the edge of Mickey’s jaw

“Wolves.”

“Nah that’s a plural. It would be a single.”

“Wolf, then.”

“That’s four letters Mick.”

“Fuck! What are you, the fuckin’ letter police?”

Mickey’s brows drew together as he tried to think of something else and Ian snapped his fingers triumphantly

“Beaver! It’s a beaver!”

“The fuck! No one has a fuckin’ beaver as their national animal.”

Mickey shook his head and scowled

“No, it is! I remember at school we did a project on Canada ...”

“Beavers are like fuckin’ river rats with retarded tails.”

Mickey drew heavily on the joint and Ian rolled his eyes

“Whatever, I’m writing it in.”

“No! It’s not a beaver it’s got to be like … a black bear or something.”

“You get the whole ‘number of letters’ thing, right? Six. This has to be six.”

Ian flinched as Mickey thumped his arm lightly.

“I’m not fuckin’ dumb...”

“Then stop acting it! Jesus. It’s fuckin’ beaver. Idiot!”

Ian snapped and thumped Mickey back, hard. It was a split second and Ian immediately wished he hadn’t said it, hadn’t hit Mickey so hard but it was too late and as if in slow motion he saw the emotions flicker across his boyfriend’s face; shock, hurt, anger and then that impenetrable mask of indifference slammed into place, shutting Ian and the rest of the world out, sealing Mickey in on himself, a defence mechanism that was no doubt learned as a little kid trying to survive in a house with Terry Milkovich.

“What the fuck did you just call me?”

“Nothin’. I shouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry.”

Ian tried to touch Mickey and the older boy flinched backwards, slapping his hand away and standing up. Ian stood too, the paper and pen falling to the floor, forgotten in the heated atmosphere of the room.

“You didn’t say nothin’, huh? You sure? Cause if you want to say it again I’m fuckin’ listening.”

Mickey stepped forward, his eyes flashing dangerously, arms loose by his side, a fighters stance.

“Jesus!”

Ian threw his hands up in frustration.

“Why does everything have to be like this with you? I’m an asshole for two seconds and suddenly we have to fuckin' knock the shit out of each other?” 

“Oh, so I should just take it, huh? You fuckin’ call me stupid and laugh at me and I’m supposed to just take it?”

“No. You can tell me I hurt your feelings or ...”

“You didn’t fuckin’ hurt my feelings! Fuck you! Think I’m some sort of little pussy bitch as well as dumb?”

Mickey shoved Ian in the centre of his chest with one hand, it was rough but not vicious. A warning. 

“Stop it! Stop hitting me every time you feel insecure.”

Ian shoved him back and Mickey came forward, years of training, of conditioning, pushing him down the same road he had followed his entire life. Someone insults you, you hit them. They hit you back, you hit them harder and you don’t stop until they quit getting up.

He wrapped his left hand in Ian’s vest front, dragging him forward, a harsh echo of Ian’s earlier action. There were no kisses now. 

“What did you call me, bitch?” 

Mickey raised his fist and Ian stared at him, hard. 

“You hit me and we are fucking through. I mean it.”

Ian’s voice was flat and authoritative, with no trace of bluster. Mickey flinched as if struck and his eyes widened. He lowered his arm and let go of Ian’s clothing and stepped back.

“What do you mean ‘through’?”

“I mean through. Over. Done. This is not the way we are going to live.”

Mickey swallowed hard and folded his arms across his chest. He knew Ian and knew when he made his mind up there was no changing it. If Ian said they were through then they would be through and nothing Mickey said or did would be enough to change it once it was done. Fear curled in his throat making it hard to speak.

“You’ve hit me before, I ain’t ever threaten to leave you for it.”

Ian was smoothing down the fabric of his vest and massaging the patches on his chest where Mickey’s knuckles had pressed in, bruising him, but at Mickey’s words he looked up, ruddy eyebrows drawn together in a frown.

“You’re right. But it has to stop Mick. We can’t go on like it. I can’t. I don't want to be scared of my boyfriend.”

Ian's words cut him deeply and Mickey didn't know what to do with the feelings of guilt that made his shirt feel too tight across his shoulders and the house suddenly too small around him. His mask of indifference wavered, cracked and broke. 

“So then what? You want me to talk about my feelings, like some faggot on the TV whining about his wife leavin’ and the dog fuckin’ dyin’?”

“No. But I want you to stop using your fists. I mean, Seriously Mickey. Is this what you want to be? Some asshole like your dad, knocking me around, knocking Yevgeny around?”

“Hey! Fuck you! I’ve never touched that kid!”

Mickey snapped, pointing a finger angrily at Ian but not moving forward, not touching him.

“Not yet. But when he gets bigger? When he learns to talk back, to say ‘Fuck you!’ … you gonna punch him in the face?”

Ian challenged, never taking his eyes from his boyfriend. He watched as initial shock turned to revulsion and then to guilt. 

“No. Course not.”

Mickey mumbled and pursed his lips looking away from Ian’s face.

“Fine. Then you can control it and you can stop doing it to me. You want us to be together? You stop hitting me.”

Ian spoke firmly but not unkindly and Mickey forced himself to look at him again.

“So from now on, if I slap your ass when we fuck, you’re gone?”

Mickey shrugged one shoulder upward trying to downplay the emotions running through him, the panic he felt at the thought of Ian walking away from him. 

Ian’s lip quirked upward in a lopsided smile

“No, but that’s different. I’m talking about this.”

he gestured to the space between them, the room and the atmosphere that still crackled with the threat of violence. 

“I piss you off and you bust my nose, my jaw, whatever. It’s not love, Mick. It’s wrong.”

“Yeah, well. I don’t like it either, but it’s kind of who I am, Ian. It’s what I am.”

Mickey shrugged again and looked downwards, studying the frayed caps of his boots, steel visible beneath the fraying leather. He didn't know exactly what love was and was not, had never known but he thought maybe with Ian he was starting to learn. He looked up at the sparks of gold and copper that the sunlight sent streaking through Ian's hair and at the smattering of freckles that criss-crossed his nose and cheeks and Mickey knew with a certainty that if he could not teach himself what love was with Ian Gallagher, he would never learn it in his life.

“So you’ll change. Just a little. And so will I.”

Ian stepped forward tentatively and held out his hand, as if approaching an unfamiliar dog that might bite him if he moved too quickly. Mickey met his gaze and stood perfectly still, letting Ian cup his cheek in his palm. 

“I’m sorry I was an asshole. I know you're not stupid.”

Ian murmured and drew in close enough to feel the heat of Mickey’s body and feel the soft warmth of his breath as Mickey reached up and threaded his tattooed fingers through the lengths of Ian’s hair, gently pulling him down until their foreheads touched.

Mickey’s eyes blurred into twin blue orbs and then disappeared as he closed his eyes and ran his free hand up the length of Ian’s bicep. 

“I’m sorry I scared you. I don’t want to scare you, Ian.”

“It’s OK. We’re OK.”

Ian slipped his hands under Mickey’s shirt and stroked his back gently

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“It’s not a fuckin’ beaver.”

“It is. But fuck it, who gives a shit?”

Ian pulled out of the embrace and grinned down at Mickey. 

“Get in the shower. I’m going to scrub your back.”

“Yeah?”

Mickey’s own grin was almost shy and Ian took a firm grip on his ass and drew him up onto his tiptoes. Mickey gasped and gripped Ian’s shoulders equally hard.

“Not just your back.”

Ian growled softly, delighting in the way his words made Mickey lick his lip and the way his pupils swelled, darkening his blue eyes, the last of the fear leaving them until only lust remained.

“Fuck yeah, beaver boy.”


	2. Learning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey and Ian start putting their new way of living into practice and trying to do better by each other.
> 
> xxx

Ian sat on the porch steps with his head in his hands. His boyfriends arm slung lightly around his shoulders. They had sat that way for nearly twenty minutes, though to Ian it felt at once considerably longer and also no time at all. Every now and then he heard the rustle of a cigarette pack and then the scrape and click of a lighter, the small whoosh of flame and then a soft puff of exhalation as Mickey smoked but his boyfriend had made no effort to actually speak to him.

“Don’t you want to know what’s fucking wrong?”  
Ian snapped finally

“I reckon it’s the bipolar fuckin’ with your head.”  
Mickey’s voice was low and matter of fact and Ian felt him shrug beside him. He sat up and wiped his sleeve angrily under his nose, shoving Mickey’s arm away.

“Why do you always fuckin’ think it’s that? Maybe I’ve just had a really shitty day.”

Mickey raised his eyebrows and gave Ian a side on look   
“Have you had a shitty day?”

“Do you even fucking care?”  
Ian knew he was being unreasonable, could hear the petulant tone of his voice but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Ian shrank back against the broken fencing of the handrail watching Mickey between lowered auburn lashes. He noticed the slight flaring of Mickey’s nostrils as he turned his gaze back to the road and took another drag on his cigarette.

“I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t care.”

Ian chewed on his lip for a second and blinked a few times to clear his blurring vision.   
“The meds are makin’ me feel sick and I haven’t taken a shit in three days. My head feels woolly and I can’t taste anything. I don’t want to go back to the clinic because they might change the meds and then I have to start all over again.”

His voice cracked on the word ‘again’ and Mickey clucked his tongue against his teeth sympathetically. He tried to draw Ian into a hug but Ian shied away and Mickey let his hand drop.

“Might just be one of them needs a different dose, easy as that.”  
He flicked the butt of the cigarette into the road and watched the sparks fly across the broken tarmac.  
“We can go down there tomorrow. I ain’t got nothin’ to do til midday and if I’m late they can fuckin’ wait.”

“Why are you so calm? If they change the meds I might turn into a fuckin’ zombie again. Is that what you really want? Just some mindless zombie you can boss around and fuck whenever it suits you?”

Ian stood up and stamped down the steps into the yard, his fists clenched at his sides but Mickey remained seated, his own hands now locked around his knees. He squinted up at Ian and cocked his head to the side, shielding his eyes from the bright glare of the blue sky above.

“The fuck are you talkin’ about? If I wanted that I’d be workin’ my way through the fuckin’ gormless bar-flies at the Alibi. Most of those assholes are fuckin’ braindead!”

“They ain’t queer like you though. They don’t like dick.”  
Ian’s eyes were huge and round, challenging Mickey, almost daring him. Mickey dusted his hands off on his pants and stood up slowly. Ian stepped back, his hands coming up in loose fists. Mickey looked down the bridge of his nose at his boyfriend and snorted, waving one hand in a dismissive gesture.

“Forget it man, I ain’t gonna fight you. But if you don’t watch your god damn mouth you’re gonna be sleeping on your sister’s shitty couch tonight.”

“What’s the matter? You a pussy now, huh?”  
Ian pushed his hair out of his eyes angrily. Micky looked away and his chest swelled outward with a deep breath. His nose twitched with the effort of keeping his temper and he took a moment before answering.

“No, I’m ain't a pussy. You told me if I hit you we’d be fuckin’ through. I’ll be honest, right now that doesn’t feel like the end of the fuckin’ world cause frankly, you’re being a whiny little bitch and I’m getting pretty sick of it. So I tell you what …”

Mickey fixed Ian with a look that had made hoodlums and cops alike think twice before trying him, blue eyes hard and unyielding and pointed a finger at him like a weapon.

“I’m goin’ inside to get a couple beers but then I’m comin’ back and we are gonna talk. Don’t go anywhere, OK?”

“Fuck you. I’ll do what I want.”  
Ian glared up at his boyfriend and Mickey snorted 

“I know that asshole, but if I come out and you’re gone, I’m gonna be royally pissed and then we will have a real fuckin’ problem on our hands.”

Mickey nodded his head and waited for Ian to bob his head minutely in agreement before turning and going inside. He had never worked so hard in his life not to lose his shit. He wanted to smash something but didn’t want Ian to hear it so contented himself with biting his knuckle and taking a few heavy breaths. He slammed the fridge door hard enough to rock the whole thing backward but by the time he pulled the front door open his face was tranquil and he managed to keep his voice light.

“You want this?”  
He held the bottle out over the railing and Ian shuffled forward to take it before looking up at Mickey warily

“You gonna smash it over my head if I get too close?”

“Shit! That’s a tempting thought.”  
Mickey grinned, a brief flash of his teeth and then softened his expression into a more gentle smile  
“I told you, I ain’t gonna hurt you Ian. C’mon, take the drink.”

Ian reached out for the bottle and settled his hand over Mickey’s fingers, stroking the back of his knuckles with his thumb

“I’m sorry. I am so sorry, Mick. I don’t know what’s wrong with me…”

“You’re fuckin’ bipolar, Ian. That is what’s wrong with you. It ain’t your fault and the meds are gonna help soon.”  
The certainty in Mickey’s voice made Ian’s eyes well up and he winced as Mickey reached out and brushed a stray length of red hair back behind his ear.

“You don’t have to be nice to me you know.”

“I know! I could be a fuckin’ prick if I wanted. You love my ass so you ain’t going anywhere.”  
Mickey arched one fine black eyebrow and then winked at Ian.

“Your mouth’s OK too.”  
Ian murmured tentatively, wanting to join in with the joke and get rid of the animosity that was still bunching between his shoulders.

“OK? Seemed better than OK when you were makin’ sure the whole fuckin’ neighbourhood knew my name.”

“Nah. It was just OK, but I figure you’ll get better with practice.”

“Oh yeah?”  
Mickey sipped from his beer bottle and put it down on the porch.  
“You want to show me how it’s done, tough guy?”  
He flicked his tongue across his bottom lip and hopped over the railing landing in front of Ian with a soft thump, untucking his shirt from his pants and settling his left hand on his belt buckle.

“Out here?”  
Ian frowned, but a smile began to creep across his face and Mickey shrugged

“Why the fuck not? You already made me announce it to the whole fuckin’ bar. Not like it’s a secret.”

Ian’s eyes lit up and Mickey took hold of the back of his neck pulling him down and slipping his tongue into Ian’s mouth, kissing him deeply until they broke away breathless.

“You say you can’t taste anything? We’ll fuckin’ see.”

“You really want me to suck your dick out here? In the front yard?”   
Ian was still incredulous but Mickey could see the excitement beneath his shock and nodded

“Yeah I do. I want you to finish me and tell the whole fuckin’ world how I taste. You’re gonna shout it at the top of your lungs, Firecrotch.”

Mickey was, by nature, intensely private but Ian … Ian was a showman. An exhibitionist of the first degree and he loved the thrill of being seen by everyone no matter what he was doing. If it would bring some life back into those beautiful green eyes, Mickey would get his dick out just about anywhere.  
Ian tipped his head back and laughed, a full rich laugh that lit Mickey’s world and then held up his hands surrender 

“You’re crazier than I am.”

“No fuckin’ doubt.”

“Can we go inside? That’s if I am still welcome in the house tonight.”

Ian asked bashfully and Mickey rolled his eyes but wrapped a muscular arm around Ian’s waist all the same, 

“Course you are.”

Ian slipped his own arm around Mickey’s shoulders and together they walked up the steps and into their home.  
"You managed not to knock the crap out of me."  
Ian murmured, nudging his chin against the top of Mickey's hair affectionately

"I know. You should mail order me a medal of honour or some shit."

"I should."  
Ian ducked down and kissed Mickey's cheek softly. He didn't see the look of love that small action earned him, but he knew it was there all the same. It always was.


End file.
